Friday, November 14, 2014

Article Number: 9868


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()()()()() Night of the Cabbage Patch Kids ()



()()()() by Thomas Covenant ()()



()()() "The Official Sequel to Smurfkill!" ()()()



()() Written September 28th, 1986 7:32 PM ()()()()



() With stupid Ascii Art and no justification. ()()()()()



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"Goddamn lousy cocksucking shitlicking syphilittic goatfucking sonofabitch!



OOOOOOWWWWWW!" screamed Jerry Turner as his foot slammed into the side of the



lawnmower. He hopped around futilely as the thing sputtered, wheezed, and



coughed blue smoke as if laughing at him. He tripped over the garden hose, and,



flailing his arms about, fell and smashed his head on the corner of the mower.



He groaned. He should never have bought the damn thing so cheap, but it was hard



to resist. So what if the guy who useta own it was now in the state hospital



wearing a funny wraparound jacket? Although maybe he should have cleaned off



all that blue crap stuck to the blades...



He got up and limped into the house, muttering and swearing under his



breath. He needed a drink. No, make that a LOT of drinks. He passed by his



daughter's room and noticed the door half open, and a little face peering out



at him. He went over and slammed the door. Miserable Cabbage Patch Brats. He



should never have gotten her one. There was no way to stop her whining now.



Everytime a new one came out he had to buy it or be tormented by her sniveling



for days on end. The damn things would send him to the poorhouse. Fifty fucking



dollars each, well fuck that!



In the kitchen, he lost track of how many drinks he made. He knew he had



finished two bottles...or was it three?



* * * * *



A door slammed. His loudmouth wife, returning to picking up his whiny



spoiled brat kid. He lurched to his feet and staggered out to greet them.



What he saw made his jaw drop to the floor. There, nestled in his daughters



loving arms, was ANOTHER CABBAGE PATCH KID! Its vacant stare and wideeyed smile



seemed to sneer up at him. He heard a low, animal growl, and didn't realize that



it came from his own throat.



He staggered forward, snarling. His daughter shrank back. "Mommy! What's



wrong with Daddy?"



"Jerry! What do you think you're doing?"



"I'm doing shomething that shoulda been dunalong time ago!" With that, he



reached out to grab the hateful thing. Little Ellen turned to run, but tripped



and fell to the floor. She raised her head with a wail, and Jerry saw blood



gushing from her cute little snub nose. The sight filled him, enraged him. He



was in no mood for games. He snarled savagely and latched onto the thing by its



hair, giving a tremendous yank. It flew out of her arms and into his waiting



grasp.



"Stop it! You're hurting him!" she wailed.



Jerry hardly heard her. He felt fantastic, this was great! Waves of



pleasure washed across him as he took it in both hands and began ripping it to



shreds. He threw it to the floor and began jumping on it, grinning insanely as



he stomped the wretched thing flat. He boogied and kicked in different



directions, watching the arms and legs fly off and bounce, and the little



smiling face slowly turn into an unrecognizable mush.



Finally he was done. He stood atop the shattered remains and screamed his



conquest to the skies! Then he swayed back and forth, and crashed to the floor,



unconscious.



Ellen was through screaming. She stood there, crying.



Carol was more practical. "Come on, honey. You pick up Michael Lou, and



I'll get a shoebox and we'll bury him properly."



Sniffling, Ellen started searching the floor for recognizable pieces.



* * * * *



That night, a small shoebox was lowered into the Turner backyard. Carol and



Ellen stood watching Jerry as he shoveled dirt back in, muttering. Small faces



watched, also...from the window of Ellen's room, plotting vengeance...





(c) 1986



A Three Sheets to the Wind Production


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